The Mis-con-ception...
For the first time in her entire
twenty-six year old Christian life, going through the two hewed marble pillars
which serves as the entrance to the vast Church compound that fateful Sunday
morning was the most dreadful. She instinctively looked to the left to see if
Pastor Wiafe’s overused Hyundai i10 which served as a reminder of his modesty,
was parked in front of the magnificent whitewashed building but did not see any
car. The lawn in front of the two-storey
building which serves as the Pastors’ common room was deserted too, signaling
Pastor Wiafe’s absence. As if on cue, she turned to look to the right and saw a
handful of people scurrying off towards the domineering Church building
situated at the far end of the vast compound.
She gazed at the dashing folks
and did not know what to make of them. Maybe, she should just bore into their
minds and find out if they were in Church for salvation and to do the will of
God or if they were just in church to use it as a means to a superficial end.
But before she could restrain herself from these self-absorbing thoughts, she
was interrupted by the loud clanging of the towering Church bells signaling the
beginning of the day’s programme.
The startling effect from the
clanging bells which annoyed her so much set her thinking as to why the church
was still using tolling bells in a world where everyone has a gadget or two
with a time feature and are not premised around the Church anyway. What beats her even more was how she has
never thought about this until now that everything seemed wishy-washy about the
Church. And this is how she knew that her predicament was having a toll on her.
It was the same time she felt a cold, damp tear trickle down her cheeks.
“Oh not again!” she muttered as
she reached for a box of tissue paper in a bag she clutched under her armpit.
She bit her lower lip which was
already swollen as though, it will prevent the tear ducts from allowing the
tears to freely flow, but her pre-occupation was more on how to avoid being the
centre of any unnecessary drama where everyone would be heaping empathy on her
as though she was incapable of taking care of herself. No! She was too strong
for that.
As far as her wobbly legs and
shaky frame could carry her, she moved from her initial spot where she was
sobbing into the shadow which has been casted by the purported Jerusalem walls
of the Church as she dabs the free flowing tears.
Although, she is not keen on what
she wants any longer, one thing remains clear, which is, she is not going to
allow anyone to come near her again, let alone tell her what she should do
thenceforth, especially her Mother’s friends who professes to be the epitome of
morality and know everything from Archeology to Zoology to finally shatter her
already dented and fractured ego. Thanks to them and other Church people, she
is no longer cheerful and enthusiastic about life.
If she had not been led astray by
everyone; Pastor Wiafe inclusive, that, marriage was the panacea to her
numerous problems, she would not have ended up losing faith in the
oversimplified tenets of the Church. Recalling their beliefs and their numerous
experts’ advice as though it was a magic wand only threw her into another bout
of uncontrollable sobs and she knew she was a sorry sight by now. Without
mincing thoughts, she has come to believe that, the church is more responsible
for afflicting the souls of the lost and wandering flock of sheep it claims to
be saving by overstepping their boundaries and staying aloof when it was mostly
needed.
Thankfully, she was not in Church
that fateful morning to fellowship, she was done with Church. She came to see
pastor Wiafe to discuss pertinent issues which were crucial to her marriage
since he was the assigned Pastor who nurtured
them spiritually and also doubled as their counselor when she was about
getting married. Infact, he was the one who convinced her to marry Roland. Her three weeks marriage is on the verge of breaking
and she doesn’t know if she even wants to save it…
The writer tweets @vilejah
No comments:
Post a Comment